


Arturo Huerta (is a coward)

by ImperfectPitch



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Blaseball is a horror game, Dark Seattle, Existential Horror, Gen, Guilt, Police Brutality, Survivor Guilt, The Beginning of the Discipline Era, The Incineration of Jaylen Hotdogfingers, The Shadows, exactly one f-bomb, say my name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29090700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperfectPitch/pseuds/ImperfectPitch
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Arturo Huerta (is a coward)

They kept going through the darkness. They had been driving their way forward for so long that time had lost all meaning. They kept going because they knew if they stopped, if they listened to the gentle whispers and just let it take them they would never move again.

They pushed on. Through the grasping pitch black they pushed on. Through the smothering cold they pushed on. Through the ache and the numbness they pushed on. They pushed on and on until the only thing that kept them moving was the raw animal terror of what lay behind them.

They pushed on until the darkness gave way and the clinging shadows released them at last and they breathed in a lung full of real air and heard the roar of a living city.

They couldn't even feel themself cry.

\---

They needed to get somewhere safe. Until then they wouldn't let themselves think about what had happened. About why there was ash clinging to their uniform. About the gnawing terror in their gut over what tomorrow would bring. They were almost home and they promised themselves that once they had a locked door between them and the world, they could scream and wash their friend out of their hair.

They climbed the last flight of stairs. They turned the corner. They closed and locked the front door behind them. 

Only then did they realize that the apartment had been unlocked.

They heard someone stir in the other room. They didn't dare breathe. An almost familiar voice called out.

"Sorry, but I let myself in with the spare key. It wasn't hard to guess the combination."

They slowly inched their way forward towards their kitchen. There was a person sitting at the table drinking coffee and reading a newspaper. From the front page of the evening edition, a face they couldn't bear to see stared back at them beneath a bold headline: **MAYOR BURNED ALIVE!**

"Just who do you think you are?"

The person at the table set the paper down and stared back at them. They could not process the face they were seeing.

"Let's talk. You want to hear what I have to say."

"I... you... what could I possibly want to hear you say?"

"You want out, but you're trapped. You want to cut and run but your league contract says you have to play. I'm here to offer you an exit."

"You... You think I'd abandon my teammates after what just happened today?"

"Yeah. Because I know that deep down, you're a coward. You ran and hid whenever your parents fought. You ran and hid when your first crush confronted you about the note in his locker. You ran and hid when you saw the line of cops beating your neighbors in the street. Now you want to run and hide because your teammate burned to ash and you're afraid you could be next."

"...How?"

"Because that's what I would want if I was standing in your shoes right now."

"...Who _are_ you?"

"You know who I am."

"I really don't kn-"

"Yes you do. Say my name."

They tried, but the words would not come out.

"I... I don't know."

"No, you do. You just wish you didn't. Say the name."

"I really don't know who-"

"Say my **damn** name, Arty!"

"You... You're me. You... _we're_ Arturo Huerta."

" _Thank you._ "

"What do want from me?"

"Exactly what I told you: I want to take your place. Your name. Your address. Your _obligations_. I want to step seamlessly into the life that you want to leave behind without anyone being the wiser."

"Why though? You clearly know what happened to... you know." They still couldn't say it. It was too fresh.

"I've lost everything else. I want my fucking name back."

" _What?_ "

"Every person I've encountered in the past few hours looks right through me unless I work to get their attention. I talk to people and they talk back to me, but when I try to tell them who I am... it's like the words don't even exist. I can't even say my own name..." The person turned the newspaper over to the splorts page and pointed to the past week's Blaseball scores. "But I can say _yours_."

"That doesn't even make sense!"

"You think I don't know that? For whatever reason I've lost my name, but you still have it. I want it. I want it badly enough to take your place in the line of fire."

They cringed at the choice of words. "Is a name really worth that much?"

"Don't know. Frankly don't care. I need something real that I can hold onto. Something that can't be taken from me. Arty, people don't even remember _talking_ to me when they look away. I don't want to find out what happens if _I_ start forgetting me too."

"This is too much. Where did you even _come from?_ "

"Seattle."

"Yeah, where the hell do you think we _right now_ smartass?"

"Seattle 2? Portland? _Chicago?_ Call it whatever the hell you want but it's not my Seattle and that's all I care about."

"Okay... Okay. If you're really me, how can you be so calm while I'm freaking out over here?"

"Because I've been in the cold, suffocating darkness for so long that everything is numb right now. Survival is the only thing I can care about. I'll scream when I'm safe."

"Safe? You want to take my place out on the field so you can be _SAFE?_ "

"You have _no idea_ what I'm running from. And you'll sleep much better if you keep not knowing. Whatever this whole 'Discipline Era' thing is, I promise you it's an upgrade for me."

"This is nuts!"

"I agree. But we have an opportunity to turn a lose-lose into a win-win and we don't have a lot of time, so lets both be honest with ourselves here and get to work."

\---

They tried it out, rolling it around their tongue.

"Arturo Huerta. My name is Arturo Huerta."

It wasn't exactly the same. The stress on the syllables was slightly different. The way it felt in the mouth was off. But it was close enough.

They picked up their uniform bag and stepped off the bus in front of the stadium. For a moment they just stood on the sidewalk soaking in the warmth of the cloud-covered sunlight and breathing in the thick city air. All around them was the noise of traffic and the sound of thousands of strangers going about their lives. Not a one of them spared Arturo a passing glance.

This wasn't home. But it _was_ Seattle. That was close enough too.

\---

They looked at the fake ID again, reading the unfamiliar name beside their familiar face. It wasn't really theirs, but they knew it would have to be now.

They put the ID back in their wallet. On the seat next to them was a suitcase they knew contained several changes of clothes, a few personal items, and about five figures in cash. Everything they could carry was now everything they owned.

They looked out the window of the train car at the unfamiliar landscape and realized rather abruptly they had no idea where they were now or where they were headed. Surely they had a ticket somewhere?

They searched the pockets of their coat and found a folded note. They took it out, opened it and saw that the text had been glued together from cut out words.

_You are free from Blaseball. Now disappear. Good luck._

They stared in total confusion before seeing there was more below the fold. They read on.

_P.S.: Always shop local. Avoid crowds and dark places. Do NOT listen to the radio. If you ever see anyone with a blue arrow, RUN._

They read the note a second time. Then a third. On the fourth reading they felt more text on the back. They flipped the paper over.

_P.P.S.: It wasn't your fault._

For reasons they couldn't explain, they broke down and cried for the first time in years.


End file.
